


A Fiery Beast

by hawkins437



Series: The Seònaid Earrach Anthology [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Backstory, Ferelden, Gen, Mages, Mages and Templars, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Fiction, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Starkhaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:48:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkins437/pseuds/hawkins437
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seònaid Earrach and her family fled Starkhaven hoping to hide her magic and escape the Circle, but the power the Fade cannot be concealed. Female human noble mage OC backstory. Set in Highever before Dragon Age: Origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fiery Beast

**Author's Note:**

> A backstory of Seònaid "Nicoletta" Earrach, a human mage of noble birth, originally from Starkhaven. Along with her parents and brother, she fled for Ferelden once she started showing signs of magic to escape the life of the Circle, only for her magic to be discovered at a later time.
> 
> A/N: I wrote this story two years ago when my English was not as good as it is now and therefore I'm sorry that even after hours of (chiefly fruitless) editing, the writing is not up to my usual standards. I promise you that it improves in future chapters.

“Dearest Andraste! What have you done, child!” mother cried.

I sat on the muddy courtyard and began to cry. I was a monster, a tainted creature that once corrupted the Black City, and worst of all a murderer. I could not quite comprehend what has happened; I merely knew that the squire now lay dead, his skin burnt and blistered, the air filled with foul smell of seared flesh and hair.

My quiet sobs were not accompanied by the wetness of tears; no—I felt dry, I had no tears to spare, inside my mouth there was a desert and even the sweat I had shed during the sword practice had vaporised. I had no more liquids to spill and shivered with fever. It was as if an unnatural drought had swallowed me, never allowing me to feel the chill of Fereldan spring again.

Suddenly, I heard the heavy footsteps in the splashing mud, accompanied by the clink of armour; I lifted my eyes and there he stood— my father, Kenneth Earrach, a high knight in service of Teyrn Cousland. To me, he was an embodiment of everything the word _noble_ means. He knelt and took my cheeks gently into his calloused hands, hands used to wielding a claymore more than to calming children. His eyes—so much alike my own—reflected the mother’s question.

“ _Chan eil fhios agam._ ” _I do not know._ I said and buried my face in his long, earth-coloured hair, wetting it as I did so, finally having found my tears.

He hugged me as he always did when I was scared. I have ever felt safe in his arms; no fiend could hurt me or tear me away, no one would dare to, without having to face his wrath.

“What happened here?” he asked aloud, his eyes tracing the face of a nearby maid.

“All I can remember is that little squire and lady Seònaid were sparring as always and all of sudden there was fire all around the courtyard and the little lady all ablaze, casting balls of fire upon the poor boy.” the maid said. “She looked and acted like a demon of rage. I do not know what the boy did to anger her so, but I tell you, good ser, there is something unnatural about your daughter.”

“ _Chan eil sin ceart!”_ _That is not fair!_ I cried, responding to her insults, but then I realised that she spoke the truth and my sobs became even more throaty.

“I was trying to protect you, _mo_ _cridhe_ , but I fear now that I won’t be able to do that anymore.” he whispered into my ear. “We cannot run away forever.”

“I am afraid we will have to call the Templars, ser Kenneth.” one of the guards interrupted. “The girl is a witch and as such she belongs to the Circle.”

“Is there really no other way?” father asked, reluctant to send me to the Circle.

“Unless you want your daughter to live, I think not.” the guard threatened and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. And my father, though capable to carve through the castle with nothing but a heavy two-handed sword and a small portion of men at his command, surrendered to this image.

“Then call them.” he spoke quietly and shed a tear of his own.

“ _Tha mi duilich._ ” I whispered, holding him ever so tightly. “I am sorry, I did not mean to… I do not know what happened. It will never happen again, I swear! Just do not let them take me.”

“There is nought I can do, my sweet bonny lass.” he said, his voice filled with sorrow and despair. “Whit has been seen cannot be unseen. _Tha iad a’ tighinn_. They are coming.”

“No! They cannot take my children away!” my mother protested.

“There isn’t any other choice, Isobel. Go get Niall.” he commanded, trying to still his voice, yet he could not.

“I do not want to go. I want to stay here, in Highever.” I protested.

“You must. But I wish you didn’t have to; I wish you both were simple mortals like the rest of us. Then our family would never have to part, we would stay in Starkhaven where we belong, serving the Vaels as we were meant to do.” Father’s voice was all raspy from his muffled lament as he continued: “You would grow into a bonny quine and marry a nobleman of worth or even a copperless bard if you fancied so. All you might desire, _mo cridhe,_ so long as you were happy.”

And then they came, grim looking men in finely polished armour bearing the symbol of flaming sword—the Templars. For many a commoner an order of sacred heroes, saviours from abominations and maleficarum, for mages: a symbol of Chantry’s oppression and a company of brutes and rapists, and to their hand I had to be given.

My father surrendered me peacefully, though in his eyes a fire was burning and, for a moment, I thought he might slaughter all of them, take my mother and brother along with his squire, Alec, and run away again, just as we fled Starkhaven. His face was the face of a broken man, a man deprived of happiness and pride. And as I watched him, I began to cry once again.

“Don’t greet your eyes out; no troubles are solved by shedding tears. Be strong my wee girl. Hold your head high, you’re an Earrach still.” he said. “ _Tha geol agam ort. A bheil sibg gam chluinntinn? Tha geol agam ort, a_ _She_ _ònaid.”_ he cried as I was taken away.

_I love you too, da._

My mother refused to give up Niall, so they tore my older brother from her arms. My father did not react, he stood, his ever-tan skin pale and his eyes dead, and I knew this vessel of a broken man was not my father any longer. It was painful to see such a cheerful proud man, strongest of the Cousland soldiers, a man worthy of the title _noble_ standing slouched in a state of quiet stupor when everything that was ceased to matter. All he was had left his body, his soul abandoned him, all that remained in him was a life not worth living, and as such it was a life no longer.

 _Slàn leat._ Goodbye.I said inside my mind.

Few years later, just after I took my Harrowing, I received a letter from Alec, my father’s squire. It was the one and only letter I have ever gotten as mages are not allowed any contact with the outside world unless approved by the Chantry. In it, he wrote of my mother’s suicide, and my father’s death due to an unknown illness. He wrote me that after the incident with the Templars, da almost never spoke and took to training fiercely; he wrote that his soul was not inside his body any longer, that he became a mindless weapon. That was why my mother had committed a suicide, because she loved him and it hurt her to see him in such a state. My father went and slaughtered fifteen Templars afterwards and as he did so, he shouted words in the brogue of Starkhaven and those were his very last words. He fell ill almost immediately and faded with each passing day. He passed away few months after that, with a smile on his lips. The Maker has blessed him with death in his sleep though he was ever meant to die on the battlefield.

After I read the letter I burnt it. I had been so angry it caught fire, just like that right in my hands. I remember how the First Enchanter explained that condition to me upon my coming to the Circle. I am a pyromancer, a mage who has a strong affinity for the element of fire. Such a mage is oft very powerful when using this element but it also makes it very challenging to control. My fire is stronger than I am, I cannot entirely control it and upon using it, I myself am prone to become uncontrollable; I become a sort of a walking torch and I cannot change back without help of someone else. I am a beast who murdered a little child, and that thought plagues me since my childhood. I do not blame magic for his death, only myself, for had I had more willpower I would be able to control my flames, alas I am weak and incapable of doing so.

I changed my name to _Nicoletta,_ hoping to erase the past, but one cannot change who one is and this is what I am. _A fiery beast._

**Author's Note:**

> The language used in the conversation between Seònaid and her father is Scottish Gaelic, as I'm not a Gaelic speaker I cannot guarantee that it is 100% correct, but I wanted to include it to give the story a special feel. Originally all the dialogues of the Starkhaveners were written phonetically in Scottish accent, but I edited it into plain English after receiving some feedback about it being difficult to read for some unused to the dialect.


End file.
